To Condemn
by Shizuku Tsukishima749
Summary: -PC Movieverse.- In condemning the Lion, Peter had condemned himself. "I think we've waited for Aslan long enough." Oneshot.


_A/N: _This is basically a Peter/Aslan/Lucy fic, but since you can only have two characters...lol. Anyway, this occurs during the PC movieverse, during the battle plans for storming the castle at Telmar. It might get there a little awkwardly, I warn you, but it does smooth out...I hope. I worked really hard on this (as I do all of my stories), so hopefully this is all right. lol.

_Disclaimer: _I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia. Walden Media, Fox, and the genius of C.S. Lewis do. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made from this; it's just for fun.

* * *

**To Condemn**

Could this truly be _Peter _before her? No, no, it couldn't be! It _couldn't_…! There was no way her High King would ever suggest something so brash, not to mention so arrogantly!

And yet, watching him through narrowed, bemused eyes, Lucy could not comprehend what had happened to him since their return to England a year ago.

Ultimately, she knew it was _because _of their impromptu comeback from Narnia, _because _they hadn't been given a warning or the option to choose their fates. They had left their home the same way they'd entered it, through the wardrobe in the spare room at the Professor's house.

The catalyst for the downward spiral that was Peter—starting with their misadventure and up until now—was finding themselves adults in children's bodies, Kings and Queens with a country that needed them…to which they couldn't return until the Lion called them again.

From that point onward, Peter had been moody, depressed; even the Professor had had to take him aside and tell Peter of his own heart, of how he'd had to survive forty years without Narnia, and _he _certainly wasn't flouncing around like a child, now, was he?

The boy-King had only gotten worse once home. That was when the fights had started. Nearly every day, someone would throw Peter into a fury—most of the time, over the stupidest things—and Peter would give them violent heck for it. Every time, Edmund would jump in to defend his brother, and while the girls commended his brave loyalty, they hated that Peter constantly shrugged off his help like it had done nothing but injure his pride.

Many times during the fights, Edmund would be injured in a way that issued blood or dark, horrid bruises, and when the struggles were over, Peter—the one who had essentially caused them—wouldn't even spare his brother a once-over to make sure he was all right.

Instead, Lucy would be the one to care for him, tending to his wounds as she had numerous times in the war effort's medical tents during their reign in Narnia.

Susan would help as well, of course, but the sight of her battered brother made her slightly queasy; in their own country, she had managed to get over it, but her new capabilities had not yet been administered to her younger form. She—and the others, with their once-honed skills—would have to be patient and simply wait for them to come back, the Professor had said.

Now, even when they'd finally gotten back to Narnia, Peter's head was still muddled with thoughts of England. He had no power there, that was true; he was just a fourteen-year-old schoolboy there, with a Father at war and Mother working tirelessly to keep her four children and herself afloat...and there _he _was, the eldest of them, unable to do anything in the midst of everything.

It had broken him, their once-High King, the return. His purpose, upholding Narnia in the eyes of the world as a valiant, just, gentle, and magnificent country, was no more. Yet, he'd forgotten there had once been another half to that purpose, one perhaps outshining the other—his siblings.

Indeed, the last seemed completely and painfully true. There was no longer any light in his eyes when he looked at them—only a dark haze; there was no bright laughter in their company anymore—just harsh grunts of disapproval; there was something in his face when he _did _finally force himself to glance at the pains Edmund bore—resentment at needing the help at all; there was a powerful, all-encompassing glow to him when he took notice of the three of them, Lucy on the right, Edmund on the left, and Susan between them, all smiling—it couldn't be identified, but none of the siblings could honestly say they didn't feel the abrupt need to grab a jacket or run from the room.

They missed him dearly, all of them. They wanted him back, but they had already tried so _hard_, and nothing had worked. They wouldn't give up—they couldn't—but sometimes, it was tempting, if only to break from the unbearable pain.

And this...this plan of a _night raid_?! The High King she knew, the one all of the siblings knew, would never plow ahead, regardless of the very worrying odds against them, and intend to do something that had _never been done_. By the Lion, those words _meant _something! Peter _knew _that! Well..._her _Peter did...

These exact contemplations were what possessed Lucy to interrupt her eldest brother's battle strategies and say quietly, "That's what I'm worried about."

Hearing her, Peter stopped speaking and turned to glance at her questioningly, though she could swear his face had a hint of disbelief in it. She narrowed her eyes a little more, this time in a glare only he would see, and Peter couldn't stop his mouth from dropping open slightly in shock.

Without waiting for his consent, she continued, "Well, you're all acting like there're only two options—" she paused for breath, staring at Peter a moment before gathering herself, though her countenance was pained as she got out, "—dying here, or dying there."

"I don't think you've really been listening, Lu."

His expression revealed no disdain for her disrespect—as he would no doubt later call it—but even Caspian could hear the slight edge to his voice. The future King gulped, though dared not intervene.

"No, _you're _not listening!" she was yelling in her insistence now, willing him to understand how wrong this was, how wrong _he _was. Though she was almost deathly frightened to know the truth, she asked in a slow, quiet voice, "Or have you forgotten Who _really_ defeated the White Witch, Peter?"

There was the smallest tremor in her voice, and her brother—at one time, so stricken at having made her cry that he had fallen to his knees at her feet, tears streaming down his face as he had begged her forgiveness—stared her down, tears in her blue eyes and all.

After a long moment, his face increasingly pale and hard-drawn, he replied darkly, "I think we've waited for Aslan long enough."

With that phrase, the room went silent. Three of the Four Sovereigns were very, very still, devoid of color and breath, and the same went for the rightful King and the Lion's most devoted followers. Those not so believing said nothing out of respect for those who were.

Seeing the discussion as over, the plans set, the High King walked away.

He was going to be alone, of course. He always wanted to be alone these days…

Meanwhile, a crushed Lucy lay in his wake.

At first, her naïveté had caused her jaw to drop in stunned joy at her brother's mention of Aslan, but now hung slack in terrible, soul-crippling torture. The hot tears in her eyes had begun to spill over, and strange sounds had started to come from her, as if she were trying to say something past the giant lump in her throat.

Susan and Edmund, who had been present and standing by the entire time, were also thrown at their brother's attitude toward their younger sister. He had never, ever been so cold to Lucy in either of their lifetimes, not even when he had been so stressed that he could have punched a hole through one of the Cair's pillars or ripped apart the family album his parents had kept since he was born. What floored them the most, however, was his blasphemous stance in regards to his greatest advisor and confidant: Aslan.

Susan, who was herself having trouble with her faith, merely shifted uncomfortably, aching to comfort her sister, but not feeling it her place.

Edmund was considerably paler than usual, his breathing shallow; other than Lucy, he was the second closest to the Lion, particularly when one considered what He had done for him even before he had been crowned. Peter was his best friend, and though the last year had torn them all apart, most especially Peter, he did not want to bring into light the possibility of his brother being truly so far gone.

The first action since the Words was executed by the Valiant Queen herself. Lucy stepped down softly from her place on the Stone Table—she'd _hoped _it would give Peter something to think about, and it had, to some apparently insignificant degree—and turned to face Caspian.

She probably looked dreadful, tears cascading down ashen face from bloodshot eyes, but she held her head high and kept as much of the tremble from her voice as she requested,

"If we are done here, might I take my leave, Your Majesty?"

Caspian's eyes widened, visage paling, and he quickly glanced to her remaining siblings for direction. They nodded, tiny smiles complementing their understanding features. With her beloved Narnia in its war-torn state, her brother's ghastly behavior remaining unchanged, and her middle siblings caught up in the middle, the Valiant Queen needed _someone_, and she _liked_ the Prince...

Looking back to her, Caspian stuttered, "Of—of course, Queen Lucy. You need never ask."

Smiling gratefully, she strode purposefully from the room, feeling eye after eye on her back. After all, it wasn't every day one got to witness a Queen standing up to her High King.

* * *

"We haven't, you know," she projected calmly, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the carved door frame of one of the many rooms of the How. In front of her, Peter was standing in the middle of the floor, a wearier version of the wounded, defiant look from earlier on his face.

She didn't have to explain herself; even if he were pushing Him away, there were things he simply knew.

He said nothing, and she could not decipher whether it was because he was ashamed of himself or because his anger was building. His expression did not help matters.

"You can't deny him, you know," though her tone did not change, she shifted to stand upright. "You can't Peter. I _know _you can't."

"If that is true, why do you choose to deal with me? You, the one so faithful to Him?" His head was down, voice laced with pain. As the torchlight danced about him, his blond hair of the barest comparison with the Lion's liquid gold eyes, he so appeared the High King she knew that Lucy swore he was coming back to her.

Her eyes widened, and she chose to survive on baited breath.

Creeping forward, she stopped when she reached his side. Peering up into his eyes, she saw they still weren't the shadow-less, unceasingly loving blues she recognized as his. With a despairing frown, her heart sank to return to the pit of her stomach.

She took his hand and led him backward, forcibly coming to a halt when their backs were pressed against the wall. Gently, she pulled him down to sit beside her on the stone floor.

They didn't say anything for a long while. Rubbing affectionate, slow circles on the back of his hand with her thumb, they stared unseeingly at the opposite wall.

For Lucy, there was some speculation as to whether Peter's query was merely not a rhetorical one asked out of desperation. During their reign, he had always adored and commended her relationship with Aslan. So, even in his present, blackened state, he could not honestly have meant anything by it.

All the same, it would be a lie if Lucy were to say she hadn't come in expecting a shouting match. Peter had been so volatile this year, so pseudo-happy one moment, and then hollering on about some irrelevant thing the next, that it was virtually impossible to judge just how he would react to _anything _anymore, especially—and this was probably the most heinous thing of all—his siblings.

They tried to be patient with him, of course, as he was hurting just as much as they, if not more. However, they could not help it if they sometimes slipped, sometimes let loose some things that were better kept to themselves. They grew tired, naturally, of always having to cover for him in front of their Mother, the other boys; the Narnians, Caspian; _everyone_.

Finally, her thoughts gathered, her voice was just above a whisper as she said, "I have planned and lasted many wars, Peter."

Very slowly, her brother turned his head to her and, left cheek resting on the cool stone, just observed.

It was not untrue. His sister had fought in as many wars as he had allowed during their reign, although some had been more by Ed's blessing than his own. That was not to say that Peter had not gotten the final word, for it was only his highest right as High King to oversee the safety of his youngest Queen, but the Just King had not at all been bad at convincing him to let her ride to battle on more than one occasion.

"Not as many as I, you haven't," he retorted sharply, eyes narrowed. He was looking to be challenging, intimidating, she knew, but it wouldn't work on her. She had known him too long for this child's play to merit her attention.

"No, but you know the reason for that well, Brother," the courtly tone to her voice was not missed, and her brother's face curled in frustration.

"It was for your own good, Sister. You know as much."

"I was sixteen, Peter, but more than ready to handle the weight of the army years before. You and Edmund were far too protective of me, and let's not mention Susan, please—dear that she is, she was the least in favor of my enlistment."

"With no little reason, Lucy," there was a tinge of a laugh to his voice, something the girl hadn't heard in a year, and through the twitch of indignation at his words, she would not stop him now. "She was the Gentle, after all, and she couldn't stand the idea of you in battle. Indeed, though she knew well Edmund and I would never have let anything happen, she was so guarding of you as it was…" he trailed fondly, smiling. That warm grin was another thing she had missed.

"Yes…yes, I know."

Even before she was a Queen of Narnia, Susan had always been very protective of her sister. In their time as Queens, though, such an instinct had more than doubled. When Lucy had first brought up the subject of joining the army at age twelve, all three siblings had thrown a fit, but Susan had had both overprotective brothers beaten by a long shot.

Lucy grinned at the memory, if a little guiltily.

Peter's lips fell into a frown then, brow furrowed. "I—we like to think we know what we're doing."

That stutter... It was as if he were trying to convince them both that he was in the right, and by unlawful means, at that.

Lucy glared.

"Peter, you cannot truly bring Edmund into this!" voice fiery in defense of her Just brother as she said this, there was no denying the flash in her eyes. "He has a clear conscience, Brother. He follows you because you are his King, not because he agrees with you. Even you know that much."

The frown on Peter's face stayed, deepening.

He knew she was telling the truth—what else to expect from Lucy?—for he himself had seen it in his brother's eyes. It was something he'd always known as a King, an unspoken truth never once doubted, but he'd lost it while in England, and…here, in Narnia for the second time, he'd had to look to his Just King to assure himself of such unbelievable loyalty.

It was the first time he'd ever second-guessed it.

He knew very well that many didn't agree with his idea of the raid on Miraz's castle. He knew some of the Narnians were wary of the plan, afraid that it might fall through somewhere, that Miraz's forces were just too many for their few; though Susan and Caspian had backed him up on some points, he knew they didn't fully see his way, never mind the fact that the younger boy had actually been the first to object to the proposal; then, there were Edmund and Lucy, who were so close to Aslan, still so faithful to Him when Peter was not, that one refused to follow him and the other was left feeling impossibly torn between his two Kings.

He was so _lost_…

A small, warm hand on his drew him out of it, and he gazed at Lucy a minute.

"Why not just leave it to us, Lu?" he pleaded, unsure whether his voice was really as desperate as it sounded to him.

"Peter," this sort of tone she used when she meant business, and her brother did not fault her when she glowered at him, tears shining in her eyes, "Aslan would never approve of this," her voice quieted and eyes brightened, "and you know it. You are relying on yourself, Peter, not Him, and that is where you will fail."

Her voice was pointed, and although he didn't like it, he was not so foolish that he was blind to the truth in her words. Yet, his heart choked, and he pulled further back from the Lion's call, too afraid to give in now.

He stood and, helping her to her feet, looked upon her steadily. In his eyes, she saw the steely resolve she had come to know as the farthest thing from her Peter, and she could not stop the glistening tears that trickled down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Lu."

He bent down to kiss her head, and she let him. Even so, there was the clenching of a heart when he left the room, and more than one when the beginnings of heart-wrenching sobs followed him into the night, army at his back.

* * *

She'd told him, of course.

She'd told him he would lose if he went to battle in anyone's name but Aslan's.

She'd been right.

The scout's horn sounded, and she rushed from her place at the center of the How, fingering her cordial as she prayed there were as few injured and dead as possible.

So, when she burst forth to greet them upon making it outside, her pace slowed feet from the opening. Her mouth fell open as tears welled in her eyes.

Half of their army was nowhere in sight, which could only mean… She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, inhaling and exhaling tremulously. Just barely suppressing a sob, she did her best to analyze the condition of her family and successor through blinding tears.

Peter's dark and downcast eyes; Susan's pale features and shaking hands; Edmund's kingly, disgruntled face; and Caspian's dazed, haunted expression—while they appeared physically uninjured, she couldn't help but wish to know all that had befallen them.

She would regret her next words.

"What happened?"

"Ask _him_," Peter bit out, voice snarky and just as tearful as hers, but heavy for a different reason; it was obvious he'd meant the rightful King of Narnia, but Lucy would have none of it.

Seeing she had not turned her attention to Caspian as he had indicated, instead keeping her eyes locked on him, her eldest brother was not able to keep the hurt from his already too-vulnerable face.

_I warned you_…

That seemed to echo something he'd heard before, something he truly was not in the mood to hear again so soon—almost dangerously so. Had it been anyone else—and he was lucky to have even this level of self-control leftover—it would not have surprised anyone if he had lunged at him or her and done something horrible. As it was, this was Lucy, and even in his nearly crazed state, he could not.

There were suddenly eyes on him from all sides—imploring, bleeding, ever-loving—and he could not take it.

He rushed into the How without another backward glance.

* * *

In reality, the only eyes had been Lucy's.

Yet, her eyes were _His _eyes.

His feelings were hers; hers were His.

They were conveyed through the silence of liquid gold and purest blue.

She was His voice, His devoted servant above all else.

_She _had been the one to warn Peter in His name.

* * *

In condemning the Lion, Peter had condemned himself.

* * *

_A/N: _Thanks so much for reading! It truly means so much!


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